


ever if I'm far away (I hold you in my heart)

by aletterinthenameofsanity



Series: even if it costs my life (I won't stop loving you) [2]
Category: Coco (2017)
Genre: Age Difference, Angst with a Happy Ending, Character Study, Death, F/F, F/M, Falling In Love, Getting Back Together, Injury Recovery, Memories, Murder, Post-Canon, Pre-Canon, Psychological Trauma, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-12
Updated: 2018-02-15
Packaged: 2019-03-17 12:39:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13659171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aletterinthenameofsanity/pseuds/aletterinthenameofsanity
Summary: For years, he tries and fails to reach the Land of the Living, growing weaker the entire time. His bones grow more and more fragile, leaving him with aches that don’t go away with time. It takes him longer to make it places, to move from Shantytown to the Marketplace. He can only dance with effort, and the only times when he isn’t in pain is when adrenaline- or the remains of it, at least- carries him through an activity.Everyone save Coco is dead now, and his daughter’s memories are the only thing keeping him from the Final Death.He worries that they may not be enough.-Later, in between visits from Frida and conversations with his family, the weight of the years, of Ernesto’s admissions, starts to sink in.Héctor could have returned to his familia, spent the years with Imelda and Coco. He could have grown old, died in Imelda’s arms, lived to meet Julio and Rosita and Victoria and Elena and every one of his descendants. He could have been Remembered, never lived in Shantytown, never broken bone after bone and withered away trying to return to Coco.He’d tried to return, and Ernesto had killed him for the crime of loving his familia too much to give them up.





	1. call me a fool (but last night it seemed that I dreamed about you)

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from "Remember Me." Chapter titles are from "Proud Corazon."
> 
>  
> 
> Also, wow, I really can't stay away from this movie. Oh well, I love it here among the dead.

In his fifth year in the Land of the Dead, Héctor hears a tune that sounds all too familiar and all too wrong at the same time.  _ Remember Me _ , though a sped up, jaunty version of it, is playing through the Marketplace when he goes to get some spirits for the  _ primas  _ in Shantytown.

He freezes in his spot. That’s  _ Coco’s  _ song, reserved only for their family. It shouldn't be playing anywhere but in their house, their home-

But then he recognizes Ernesto’s voice, and he realizes that Ernesto probably picked up Héctor’s songs when he died. Maybe as tribute, or because, as Ernesto always said,  _ no talente should ever be wasted. It should be shared with the world. _

\---

Héctor goes to the Sunrise Spectacular only once, the year after Imelda chases him out of her house. (It’s  _ her  _ house, not theirs, it will never be theirs, never again). He hides in the rafters, watches as his once-brother sings the songs that Héctor saved in his journal.

Hector's no-longer-beating heart breaks.

\---

For years, he tries and fails to reach the Land of the Living, growing weaker the entire time. His bones grow more and more fragile, leaving him with aches that don’t go away with time. It takes him longer to make it places, to move from Shantytown to the Marketplace. He can only dance with effort, and the only times when he isn’t in pain is when adrenaline- or the remains of it, at least- carries him through an activity.

He breaks his femur on a particularly disastrous attempt to cross the Marigold Bridge. When he limps back to his hut in Shantytown, he finds that it never mends. Everyone save Coco is dead now, and his daughter’s memories are the only thing keeping him from the Final Death.

He worries that they may not be enough.

 

On his ninetieth Dia de Muertos, gold wisps from his left thumb. He stares at it in numb terror, knowing what will come soon.

Prima Alejandra was Forgotten last week. Tío Juan is the next closest- he'll be gone by next Dia de Muertos, at the rate he's deteriorating.

Héctor has a decade at the very best.

\---

By the time comes for his hundredth Dia de Muertos, he can’t move without pain shooting through one of his limbs. Desperation overrides agony, though, carrying through a scheme he's used too many times before. He's reached the end of his rope- at least one gold wisp leaves his body per day. He knows he'll most likely be Forgotten by the end of the night.

There's no chance of survival in sight.

\---

And then Miguel shows up, and Héctor has one last chance at death.

\---

Singing  _ Un Poco Loco  _ with Miguel is the first time in a century that he's sang outside of Shantytown. His voice is rusty, but he makes it through with the adrenaline of performances past.

Héctor sneaks into Ernesto’s party, intent on searching for Miguel (now that he’s found his great-great-grandfather, he’ll be all taken care of, he’ll get back to the land of the living, Héctor won’t have to worry about him dying), and stumbles upon Ernesto himself.

And then the devastating truth of a century comes tumbling out.

 

When Héctor lands in the _cenote_ , he knows that he will die his Final Death here. Every movement brings fatigue, brings pain beyond imagining.

 

And then Miguel lands, and one last crushing truth comes tumbling out. Héctor wishes he could be excited, be nothing but overwhelmingly excited- because he has a great-great-grandson who doesn't hate him, but the pain and exhaustion are getting to be too almost much.

Then, for the first time in a century someone tells Héctor that they’re proud of him.

And not just anyone- his  _ family. _

Maybe there is hope yet.


	2. you knew every word and we all sang along

When he opens his eyes, the words to _La Llorona_ are playing in his ears for the first time in decades.

He looks up and sees Imelda sitting in the chair by his side, stitching the side of a shoe. He has no idea how she does it- the strength needed to handsew a shoe is insane- but that's Imelda for you.

“I'm sorry,” he immediately start to ramble, trying to get out his explanation before she kicks him out of-well, he's not sure, actually. A house? A hospital? “I wanted to get back to you, Mela, but I died, and woke up here, and-"

“Do you not remember what happened last, _querido_?” Imelda cuts him off, and his bones creak even just for the furrow of his brow.

As he starts to take stock of his surroundings, he starts to feel the deep aches filling every inch of his bones. “No,” he says slowly, trying to process both the aches and the fact that she just said-

 _Dios._ Did she really just call him _querido?_ What in the holy name of Santa Guadalupe?

She frowns. “You do not remember Miguelito?”

He stares at her for a moment, memories trickling back in. He remembers meeting a living kid, Chicarron dying, singing _Un Poco Loco,_ Ernesto admitting to murdering him-

His jaw drops- literally, it detaches and falls to the sheet beneath his face. He picks it up and reattaches it slowly, the aches preventing him from moving with any kind of speed, and swallows. “Ernesto murdered me?”

Imelda nods, a fierce expression spreading over her face. Even after a century, it is still so achingly familiar an expression. “If he hadn't been buried under another bell, I would smack him with my boot again.”

And then Héctor remembers the rest of his evening.

“I have a great great grandson!” He nearly shouts. “And _you_ \- you…” His voice trails off as he remembers her calling him ‘the love of her life'. It had been an amazing moment, and at the time it had felt like his non-existent heart would burst out of his chest.

Now that they aren’t caught up in the energy of the moment, her words feel less like a grand declaration and more like a fragile confession, like the hug he gave Miguel when they were trapped in the cenote _._

“We have a lot to work through, _verdad_?” he asks, and Imelda nods.

“A century’s worth of _problemas, si_ ,” she agrees, but then she slides her skeletal hand into his and the everything feels like it'll go well.

* * *

No matter how much he wants to run around like he used to, he can't just bounce back- just barely escaping the Final Death and lying unconscious for days has left his bones far weaker than he can ever remember them being.

The first time he attempts to stand, a day after he wakes up, his legs collapse, the bones coming unattached beneath him. Julio, who had been watching him while Imelda went to the restroom and took care of the few administrative responsibilities that the rest of the family couldn’t, helps him back into bed.

“Careful, Héctor,” he scolds softly, helping reconnect Héctor’s bones.

Héctor nods, letting out a small laugh. “ _Lo siento,_  Julio- I’m not used to being this fragile. That’d be Chicharron...” He was going for humor, but his smile fades as he remembers where Chicharron is now.

Julio fixes him with a sympathetic look, but doesn't say anything as he clicks the last foot bone into place. It's a strange feeling for someone to care so much about Héctor's body after so long having people treat him as the lowest of the low, unworthy of worry or concern.

-

Héctor can't stand for the next few days, confined to bed. It is something rather constricting for the man who had learned to throw his body parts about willy nilly, to treat his bones like tools.

Frida visits, babbling about how inspiring his wife is.

“ _En serio,_  Héctor,” she says, “You should have introduced us earlier-"

“She hated me, you must remember-" Héctor tries to defend himself, but Frida just waves him off. “No excuses, Héctor. Be glad that I finally got to meet her _now,_ at least. I am just jealous that _you_ made her your muse before I could.”

“Imelda is _increíble_ enough to inspire a hundred artists,” Héctor defends his wife automatically, and Frida chuckles.

“You really love her, _verdad_?”

“I never stopped,” he says.

* * *

In between visits from Frida and Ceci the seamstress and conversations with his family, the weight of the years, of Ernesto’s admissions, starts to sink in.

Héctor could have returned to his _familia,_  spent the years with Imelda and Coco. He could have grown old, died in Imelda’s arms, lived to meet Julio and Rosita and Victoria and Elena and every one of his descendants. He could have been Remembered, never lived in Shantytown, never broken bone after bone and withered away trying to return to Coco.

(Some of those things he would have missed- meeting Frida and Ceci, living with Chicharron and the _primas_ in Shantytown, but so much else he wishes he never had to endure. The aches, the forgotten memories, the hatred of his _familia._ )

Ernesto didn’t just kill him- he _cursed_ him, to an afterlife of pain and suffering. He cursed Héctor’s family to a life of anger and hatred, Coco to a life without a father.

He’d tried to return, and Ernesto had killed him for the crime of loving his _familia_ too much to give them up.

* * *

Héctor manages to stand a week after Dia de Muertos, bracing himself against the walls of the house in order to walk down the stairs to the kitchen.

He emerges into the kitchen, where he finds Rosita humming, a expression of happiness on her face as she she makes enchiladas.

“ _Hola,"_  he says as he carefully shuffles over to sit in one of the mismatched chairs at the table, and she jumps.

“Héctor!” she shouts, “ _Que demonios!_ You startled me!”

“ _Lo siento,_ ” he apologizes. “I did not mean to startle you.”

“ _No problemo_ , Papa Héctor,” she says, and his heart aches at the weight of the years that Ernesto stole from him. This is his daughter’s, his beloved Coco’s, sister-in-law. It’s hard to swallow, that his daughter is old enough to marry now (and old enough to be a great grandmother, and Héctor- he is a great-great-grandfather. How in _Dios’_ name did that happen? He barely had time to be a father, much less a grandfather and beyond.)

“What’s for _desayuno_ , Rosita?” he asks, even though he can clearly recognizes the smell of enchiladas on the stove.

As Rosita prattles on about the ingredients that she has included in the enchiladas- a recipe that Héctor knows well, as it's one that Imelda used to make often- Héctor leans back and breathes in. The ache in his bones is deep and long-lasting, and if he continues to exist, then it will take awhile to get adjusted to the strange tremble in the middle of his bones. He can feel them healing, getting stronger, and the combination of fatigue, pain, and tingling healing is a bit distracting.

(But it's a small price to pay for living with his  _familia,_ that's for sure.)

* * *

At three weeks, he takes his first trip to the market. He makes sure to dress in different clothes than his usual- he's seen the replays of the Sunrise Spectacular on the tv, and he has the feeling that Ernesto's old fans would recognize him easily- and only spends a few minutes in the market. He buys a bouquet of laelias from Abuelita Maria for Imelda and makes a quick escape before too many people pick up on his presence.

Imelda’s lips curl upward slightly when he presses them gently into her hands. “For you, _mi amor_ ,” he says, “One for every year that we were separated.”

Save for this Dia de Muertos, Héctor has never seen Imelda look this fragile before. “There are only three flowers here, Héctor.”

Héctor grins. “Guess that means I'll have to get you more, then."

Her arm twitches as if she's tempted to hit him with her shoe, but she doesn't. Instead, she smiles just a little bit. "Guess so,  _querido."_

* * *

A month after Dia de Muertos, he finds himself back in Shantytown. He continues to visit every few days, his visits growing longer the stronger his bones grow. He loves visiting, for a number of reasons.

His presence gives everyone in Shantytown hope. He had been on the verge of the Final Death, but then he has been Remembered- a proper miracle here, in the land of the Forgotten and unRemembered.

Héctor also loves these people, this  _familia_ he built for himself during a century in which he had been rejected from his first one. For an orphan, a husband scorned, his  _familia_ in Shanty town is a welcome home. Even now that his  _familia_ has accepted him, he loves these people that were his home for so long. 

There is one strange thing about visiting, though- his _familia_ , his blood one, sometimes joins him to visit his Forgotten one. One by one they accompany him, seeking to learn about his century on his own.

Victoria bonds with the _primas,_ challenging them to card games where the prize is shots of liquor. Julio bonds with Nicola, whose husband is still left in the Living world. Nicola's husband has dementia and, since they had no children, is the only one who still Remembers her.

The twins form an unholy friendship with Jacobo and Juanita Flores, two sibling orphans who will fade the day the last of the nuns who raised them dies. Juanita and Jacobo are infamous yet brilliant pranksters who help Oscár and Filipe with their inventions.

And Imelda- she often sits in his and Chicarron’s old home, gazing out onto an unnamed sea and humming quietly. Her expression her first trip down had been firm yet heartbreaking as she looked upon Chicharron’s hammock.

Imelda is still the most beautiful woman in the world, but the gray streaks in her hair remind him of the difference in life that they've lived since they last parted. She had to survive on her own, an independent woman raising a child, while he has spent the last century in a desperate bid for Coco, forever locked in his twenty one year old body.

Her voice, her heart, her mind has matured. She is not the girl he danced through Mariachi Plaza with, who he climbed a trellis to serenade with a worn-out guitar. Her heart has been broken and turned to stone.

But by _Dios_ does he still love her. Her spirit is the same, though tempered slightly by the years. Her eyes still burn with a bright fire, and her shoe is still ready to smack the unworthy and disrespectful across the face. She is still the strong one, the one with the backbone and stubbornness to turn nothingness into a powerful business.

Héctor sits down by her, taking care to move without trashing his bones. It’s hard for someone who is used to carelessly treating his bones like tools to go back to treating them like a human body, to think of them as things worth taking care of. It takes both of his  _familias_ to remind him to be kind to himself.

He leans his head against her shoulder and she cards her finger through his hair. It is comforting to just sit here with her. It almost feels like no time has passed since they were first married, since the times in which they used to gaze at the stars together after a long day raising Coco.

* * *

A month and a half after Dia de Muertos, Imelda tells him about the suitors.

“When you died,” she says as they wash the dishes together after dinner, her washing (“You always leave chile stains, you _idiota_!”) and him drying (“You might as well be of some use, _querida._ ”), “There were suitors who asked my hand, far more than in my youth. I had proven fertility by that point, having borne a _hija,_ and when I was with you I was less...standoffish than I had been. Many men thought they could tame my newly returned ‘infamous temper’ enough to make me a suitable wife.”

Héctor swallows back the taste of something sour. That men had seen Imelda as nothing more than an object, a proven commodity- it is disgusting. Imelda is the most extraordinary woman that Héctor has ever met, certainly better than Héctor deserves, and no one should _ever_ think of any human being, much less her, like that.

“You were the best wife a man could have, Mela,” he says quietly, and she doesn't look at him. “You are the best woman I have ever known.”

She swallows, her throat bones clacking against each other, but continues as if she hasn’t heard him, a look of frustration on her lips. He thinks that might be the only way for her to get through this. “Though _some_ of them were charming enough, I didn't want to be a wife again. I didn't want to fall for another _pendejo_ , didn't want to let my daughter be get attached to another _maldito músico_.”

Héctor swallows, feeling his hope crushed by her words. He really _jodido,_  didn’t he? " _Lo siento,_ Mela. I didn't mean to break your heart like that-”

Her frustrated expression falls away and she smiles wearily at him. “Shut up, _querido._ I don't hate you anymore. I don't even resent you. _Mi corazon_ is not quite mended yet, but I am learning to love you again.” She foxes him with a _look._  “Just don't be an _idiota_ this time around, _si_?”

“Of course, _mi amor,"_  Héctor grins, resisting the urge to release a _grito_ of happiness. “That's all I could ask for,” he says, and sneaks in a quick kiss to her cheek.

Imelda is beautiful, and so elegant, and everything he never got to see her become. The gray in her hair is something Héctor himself will never experience himself, a sign of ages spent toiling in the Land of the Living.

* * *

Two months after DIa de Muertos, Héctor performs for the first time.

He’s been humming and singing small ditties as he helps everyone out- finding out how to make _zapatos_ has been an interesting experience, no doubt- but he has not _performed_ , not like _Un Poco Loco_ with Miguel. He’s still a bit rusty- when Imelda first turned him away, her first year in the Land of the Dead, he had given up singing or playing (save for Chicharron, when he wanted to borrow something to try crossing the bridge)- but he wants to show Imelda this side of himself again, to show her the joy that music used to give them.

He doesn’t head to the Market or anywhere too public- he doesn’t want to be mobbed by Ernesto’s former followers like sometimes happens when he goes to the Market. Wearing new clothes borrowed from Oscar and Filipe and tailored by Rosita lends him some degree of anonymity, but if he sings he’ll immediately attract everyone’s attention.

Instead, he sets up on the back patio of the Rivera household, Chicharron’s guitar in hand. Frida, Ceci, the Riveras, and many of the residents of Shantytown gather ‘round as he hefts the guitar with shaking fingers and begins to play.

 

_Say that I'm crazy or call me a fool_

_But last night it seemed that I dreamed about you_

 

His voice gets stronger as his gaze focuses on Imelda sitting in the front, a soft smile upon her lips. That smile- that gesture of assurance, after everything that they’ve gone through- pushes him to a vocal level on par with his performance with Miguel, if not all the way to his performances when he was still alive.

 

_When I opened my mouth what came out was a song_

_And you knew every word and we all sang along_

 

As Héctor goes, he gets more and more energetic. He dances around the patio, pulling skeletons up to dance.

 

_To a melody played on the strings of our souls_

_And a rhythm that rattled us down to the bone_

 

Rosita laughs, a bell-like sound, and pulls Victoria up out of her seat and into an energetic dance. Victoria's  _novia_ , Lefstebany Costello, follows them with a smile.

 

_Our love for each other will live on forever_

_In every beat of my proud corazón_

 

The _primas_ from Shantytown form a circle and dance together, singing along with Héctor.

 

_Our love for each other will live on forever_

_In every beat of my proud corazón_

 

Frida pulls Julio and Lola into a dance of their own, directing them into dance moves that nobody, even a skeleton, should be able to pull off.

 

_Ay mi familia, oiga mi gente_

_Canten a coro, let it be known_

 

His dearest Imelda, though, is still seated, though she claps along like the rest of them. He dances up to her, the most blinding of smiles on his face.

 

_Our love for each other will live on forever_

_In every beat of my proud corazón_

 

She finally stands as he launches into the second round of the refrain, twirling on the heels of her boots like she did onstage at the Sunrise Spectacular and spinning her skirts like she used to, a century ago in a living world.

She's a bit rusty, but that's to be expected.

 

_Ay mi familia, oiga mi gente_

_Canten a coro, let it be known_

 

Héctor wants to try to be the man he used to be. He wants to be Héctor Rivera, musician and Imelda’s loving husband, not Héctor, the insane nearly-Forgotten man who the Department of Family Reunions takes bets on every year.

 

_Our love for each other will live on forever_

_In every beat of my proud corazón_

* * *

Three months after Dia de Muertos, Héctor finds himself dancing with his wife, as they have not in over a century. Imelda’s skirt flares and they dance across the back patio, a song somewhere between a waltz and a tango playing in the background. The _familia_ is down in the Marketplace, picking up flowers for the Navidad, which has left the two of them to themselves.

The first time they danced, Héctor was awkward at it. His musical talent didn’t transfer to having rhythm in all areas of his life, so Imelda, naturally gifted, had had to guide him through the steps. Though not hesitant to share a harsh word or scold his footwork, she had been rather patient with him as they danced through the Plaza.

Now, he dances with all the added skill of a century spent keeping his bones flexible. He moves fluidly, through movements practiced with skeletons fading away. He moves with the carelessness of the Forgotten and the control of the Remembered.

This time, though, Imelda is the rusty one. A century without music has not stolen her natural grace away, but it has erased memories of the exact movements that accompany this song.

They no longer match as they used to. There are mistakes like in the earliest days of their courtship, plenty of boot heels grinding into each others’ toes.

And yet, this is _fun_. This is everything that Héctor missed about her- pain and spirit and beauty and wit and love, all rolled up into one miraculous woman. He laughs through boot heels on his toes, and soon enough so does she.

Héctor’s bones ache, but for the first time in ten decades it’s a good ache. It is one of pleasant exertion rather than the pain of being Forgotten.

Somewhere in the living world, people are Remembering him. Not just Coco, not just Miguel, but a family and a country and eventually, a world.

The Great Songwriter, he is called, the hidden power behind the now _maldito_ name of Ernesto de la Cruz. His bones are becoming as bright white as Ernesto’s once were as Héctor’s letters and songs are revealed to the world. Soon enough, his bones won’t ache at all. He will be one of the best Remembered skeletons in the Land of the Dead.

But Héctor doesn’t care about any of this. As he dances with his wife, tangoing as they used to all those years ago, all he thinks about his footwork, about the feeling of her in his arms. He can only think of her smile, of bringing her all the love and happiness that they missed out on together.

Héctor Rivera loves his wife, and he plans to spend the next century making up for the last one they spent apart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is over, but hopefully this series is not. I hope to write a story about the next Dia de Muertos and Miguel's life after the movie, so stay tuned if that sounds interesting to you.Hope you all enjoyed Héctor's story!


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